An Instance of the Fingerpost

by Iain Pears

  Once all was over, she mounted the ladder after the hangman, and then waited patiently as he fumbled around her with the rope. I do not know why hangings have to be so coarse and crude; the last moments should be more dignified, not this welter of legs and arms up a rickety ladder propped uncertainly against a tree trunk, and to submit without exciting laughter is rare. But the crowd was in no mood for laughter that morning; her youth, her frailty and her calm stilled any ribaldry, and they watched with greater quiet and respect than I have ever seen at such an event.

  Then the drums sounded; only two drummers, both boys aged about twelve whom I had seen many times playing in the street; the days when a proper troop would perform the ceremony were gone now, and the magistrate had decided there was no need of soldiers that morning. He did not anticipate any trouble from the crowd, as might have been the case if a popular figure in the town, or a highwayman of standing, or a man with a family, was being hanged. Nor was there. The crowd fell absolutely silent, the drums followed suit, and the hangman – with a movement of the most surprising delicacy – pushed Sarah off the ladder.

  ‘God have mercy.’ This was her cry, and the last was lost as the rope pulled tight under her weight, and ended in a strangled sob that brought a sigh of sympathy from the crowd. And then she swung there, her face turning purple, and her limbs twitching and the stench spreading as the tell-tale stains on her shift showed that the noose was having its usual foul effect.

  I will not continue; there can be few who have not seen such a sight, and even now the memory pains me beyond belief, although I recall that I watched it all with the most remarkable calm, despite the sudden and terrifying clap of thunder and darkening of the skies which broke from heaven as she fell. I prayed for her soul, and for my own, once again and lowered my eyes that I should not see the end.

  I had reckoned without Lower, and his determination to beat the Regius professor to the body. He had, of course, bribed the hangman in advance; this accounted for the nods and winks that passed between them, and the fact that he was suffered to be so close to the tree; I did not realise he had purchased Sarah’s permission with a promise of treatment for her mother, nor indeed that the mother at that very moment lay breathing her last only a few hundred yards away from the castle. Sarah had only just stopped twitching and convulsing when Lower cried in a loud voice to his little army, ‘Right, lads,’ and surged forward, giving a sign to the hangman who straight away pulled a large knife from his belt and sliced through the rope.

  Sarah’s body fell the three feet to the ground with a heavy thump, accompanied by the first muttering of disapproval from the crowd, and Lower bent down to see if she still breathed. ‘Dead,’ he shouted after a proper examination, so that all might hear, and signed for his comrades to come forward. The porter from Christ Church picked up the body and threw it over his shoulder, and before anyone could react at all began to head off, almost breaking into a run as the protests from the crowd grew. Two others in his party stood back to head off the Regius professor’s men should they try to intercept, and Lower looked around once before following his prize.

  Right across that open patch of land our eyes met, and in mine he can have seen nothing but disgust. He gave a little shrug, then cast his eyes down, and would look at me no more. Then he too turned and ran off, into the rain which was already falling heavily and with appalling ferocity.

  I hesitated for only a brief moment before leaving myself, but unlike the crowd, who attempted a pursuit and became blocked in the narrow gateway by all trying to run out at the same moment, I left by the other entranceway. For I knew where Lower was going, and did not need to keep him in my sight in order to catch up with him and his gruesome prize.

  He must have moved quickly, and knew that the faster he went the better, for the crowd was now in an unforgiving mood. They accepted the hanging as God’s will and the king’s justice, and went to see all the proprieties maintained. What they did not accept – for crowds have a fine sense of right and wrong – was any meanness of behaviour. The condemned must die, but must be treated well. Lower had offended victim and town, and I knew it would go hard with him should he be caught.

  They did not, however, for he had planned well; I only just caught up with him myself before he slipped in the back of Boyle’s laboratory and mounted the stairs.

  I was still cold with shock at what he had done. I knew all his arguments in advance, had heard them all before and even agreed with most of them, but this I could not countenance. You may say that, considering all I had done and not done, I had long since resigned any right to make judgements. I did so none the less and mounted the stairs so that, if I could not ensure justice was done, I could at least maintain appearances.

  He had already posted guards on the stairs, lest the crowd realise that he had come here rather than to Christ Church, and was on the verge of bolting the doors so that no one could disturb him in his horrible labour. I managed to burst in, however, by pushing all my weight against the door before the bolts were shot.

  ‘Lower,’ I cried when I stopped and briefly took in the hellish scene in front of me, ‘this must stop.’

  Locke was there already to assist, as well as a barber to attend on the more mechanical aspects of the dissection. Sarah had already been stripped naked and that beautiful body which I had held so often lay on the table as the barber roughly washed it down and prepared it for the knife. That she was dead no one could doubt for a moment; her poor broken body was as drained as a corpse is, and only the thick red weal around the neck, and strangled expression of anguish on her face, destroying all beauty, showed all too well what had become of her.

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Wood,’ he said wearily. ‘She’s dead. The soul has gone. I can do nothing to hurt her further. You know that as well as I. I know you were fond of her, but it is too late for that.’

  He looked at me kindly, and patted me on the back. ‘Look, my friend,’ he said, ‘you will not like this. I don’t blame you, it takes a strong stomach. You should not stay here to watch. Take my advice and go away, old fellow. It will be better. Believe me.’

  I was too mad to listen, but angrily flung off his kindly touch and retreated, daring him to act in the bestial way he intended in my eyesight, thinking, perhaps foolishly, that my presence would make him see the evil he did, and desist.

  He looked at me for several moments, uncertain about how to proceed, until Locke coughed in the background.

  ‘We have little time, you know,’ he said. ‘The magistrate gave us an hour only, and time is going. Quite apart from what will happen if the crowd finds out where we are. Make up your mind.’

  With difficulty, Lower did, and turned away from me, and back to the table, signing for all others to leave the room. I sank down on my knees, begging the Lord, anyone, to do something and stop this nightmare. Even though it had served no purpose the night before, I went over all my prayers and my promises. Oh Lord God incarnate for our sins, have mercy on this poor innocent, if not on me.

  Then Lower picked up his knife, and placed it on her breast. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  Locke nodded, and with a swift, sure movement he began to make his incision. I shut my eyes.

  ‘Locke,’ I heard him call through my darkness, suddenly angry, ‘what on earth do you think you’re doing? Let go of my hand. Is everyone gone mad here?’

  ‘Stop a moment.’

  And Locke, whom I had never liked, pulled the knife away from the body and bent over the corpse. Then, with a puzzled look on his face, he repeated the movement, so that his cheek rested on her mouth.

  ‘She’s breathing.’

  I could scarcely restrain my tears at those few simple words, which said so much. Lower gave his own explanations later; how she must have been cut down too early in his efforts to get hold of the corpse first, and how, rather than life itself, merely the appearance of it had been extinguished. How the fall had merely strangled and brought temporary oblivion only. I know all this;
he told me his reasons time and again, but I knew differently, and never bothered to contradict him. He believed one thing; I knew another. I knew that I had witnessed the greatest miracle of history. I had seen resurrection; for the spirit of God moved in that room, and the soft wings of the dove that attended her conception returned to beat on Sarah’s soul. It is not given to man, and certainly not to physicians, to restore life when it is extinguished. Lower would argue this proves she was never dead, but he had pronounced her so himself and he had studied the question more carefully than anyone. People say the age of miracles is past, and I believed that myself. But it is not so; they do occur, but we are getting better at explaining them away.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ I heard Lower say, a tone of the greatest bafflement and surprise in his voice. ‘Should we kill her, do you think?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She is meant to be dead. Not to kill her would merely postpone the inevitable and ensure I lost her.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  I could not believe my ears. Surely, after witnessing such a marvel, my friend could not be serious? He could not go against the manifest will of God and commit murder? I wanted to stand up and remonstrate with him, but found that I could not. I could not stand, I could not open my mouth; all I could do was sit there and listen, for I think the Lord had still more purpose that day as well; he wanted Lower to redeem himself as well, if only he would take the opportunity.

  ‘I’d hit her on the head,’ he said, ‘except that would damage the brain.’ And he stood a while in thought before scratching his chin nervously. ‘I’ll have to cut her throat,’ he went on. ‘It’s the only solution.’

  And again he picked up his knife, and again he hesitated, before quietly laying it down again. ‘I can’t do this,’ he said. ‘Locke, advise me. What should I do?’

  ‘I seem to remember’, Locke said, ‘that we physicians are meant to protect life, and are never meant to kill. Is that not the case?’

  ‘But legally’, Lower replied, ‘she is already dead. I am merely doing properly what should already have been done.’

  ‘Are you a hangman then?’

  ‘She was condemned to die.’

  ‘Was she?’

  ‘You know very well she was.’

  ‘I remember’, Locke said, ‘that she was sentenced to be hanged by the neck. She has been so. There was no mention of her being hanged by the neck until dead. I admit this is normally understood and stated, but as it was not in this case, it cannot be counted a necessary part of the punishment.’

  ‘She has also been condemned to burn,’ Lower said. ‘And the hanging was merely a way of sparing her pain. Are you telling me we should now hand her over to the pyre and let her burn alive?’

  Then his attention was brought to Sarah herself, who issued a soft, low moan as she lay all unattended while they conducted their dispute.

  ‘Bring me a bandage,’ he said, the physician once more. ‘And let me bind up this cut I made in her.’

  For the next five minutes or so, he worked steadily on the wound, fortunately only small, before he and Locke used all their strength to raise her up into a sitting position, resting her back against their shoulders, and swinging her legs down off the table. Finally, while Locke instructed her on deep breathing, so that her head might steady itself, Lower fetched a cloak, and with the utmost gentleness covered her up.

  A living, sitting woman is more difficult to contemplate killing than a corpse flat out on a table and, by the time the movement was finished, Lower’s attitude had entirely changed. His natural kindness, kept at bay on many occasions by his ambition, swept all before it and, whatever he thought he should do, he began to treat the girl as his patient almost without being aware of it. And he was always ferocious in the defence of those whom he considered to be under his protection.

  ‘But what do we do now?’ he said, and all of us in that room were aware that while this had been continuing, the noise from the street outside had insensibly grown, so that now there was the roar of a substantial number of people outside. Locke poked his head out of the window.

  ‘It is the crowd. I told you they wouldn’t like this,’ he said. ‘Just as well it is raining so hard, it keeps most of them away.’ He peered up into the sky. ‘Have you ever seen rain like this before?’

  Another groan from Sarah, who bent her head down and was violently sick, heaving and retching, distracted their attention once again. Lower brought some spirits, and patted her on the head as he forced her to drink some, although it only made her retch the more.

  ‘If you tell them this, they will only say it was a sign of disfavour at what you intended. They will take her away and put her on the pyre, then stand guard to make sure you get nowhere near.’

  ‘Are you saying we shouldn’t hand her over?’

  Through all this I had said not a word, but merely sat in the corner and watched. Now I found my voice was given back to me. I could make a difference in this balance, for it was clear that all must agree to whatever action was taken.

  ‘You must not,’ I said. ‘She has done no wrong. She is entirely innocent. I know it. If you hand her over, you will not only abandon a patient, you will abandon an innocent whom God has favoured.’

  ‘And you are sure of this?’ Locke said, turning and apparently noticing me for the first time.

  ‘I am. I tried to tell the court, but was hooted down.’

  ‘I will not ask you how you know,’ he said softly, and his penetrating look made me realise, for the first and only time, how it was that he subsequently achieved such a place in the world. For he saw more than other people and guessed more still. I was grateful to him for his silence and have been ever since.

  ‘Very well,’ he continued. ‘The only problem is that we may take her place on the gallows. I am a generous man, I think, but even I have limits to what I will do for a patient.’

  Lower, meanwhile had been pacing up and down in the greatest agitation, occasionally sneaking a glimpse out of the window, then looking in turn at Sarah, then Locke, then me. When Locke and I had finished our exchange, he spoke.

  ‘Sarah?’ he said softly, and repeated it until she lifted up her head and looked at him. Her eyes were bloodshot and ill, for the little vessels within them had ruptured, and gave her the air of a very devil, and the whiteness of her complexion made this seem even more frightening.

  ‘Can you hear me? Can you speak?’

  After a long pause, she nodded.

  ‘You must answer me a question,’ he said, coming and kneeling on one knee before her, so that she could see him clear. ‘Whatever you have said in the past, you must say the truth now. For our lives and souls depend on it, as well as yours. Did you kill Dr Grove?’

  Even though I knew the truth, I did not know the answer she would give. And she did not give one for some time, but eventually she shook her head.

  ‘Your confession was false?’

  A little nod.

  ‘You swear this by all you hold dear?’

  She nodded.

  Lower stood up, and heaved a heavy sigh. ‘Mr Wood,’ he said, ‘take this girl upstairs to Boyle’s chamber. He will be indignant if he discovers, so try not to make a mess. Dress her as best you can, and cut off her hair.’

  I stared uncomprehending, and Lower frowned. ‘Now, Mr Wood, if you please. You must never query a physician while he is trying to save a life.’

  And I led Sarah out by the hand, hearing Lower murmur: ‘In the next room, Locke. It is a long shot, but it may serve.’

  Although there seemed little wrong with her, Sarah was still unable to speak or do anything except sit, staring into space as I followed my instructions. It is hard cutting off hair without a scissor, and the result would have done no credit to a woman of fashion. That, however, was not Lower’s intention, whatever else he had in mind, and within a short while I had done as I was told, then tried my best to clear up the mess.

  Then I sat down beside her, and t
ook her hand. There were no words I could say that would have answered my need, so I said none. But I squeezed lightly, and eventually felt the very slightest of squeezes back. It was enough; I broke down in the most complete of sobs, bending my head down across her breast while she sat there immobile.

  ‘Did you really think I would leave you?’ she said in a voice so soft and weak I could barely hear her.

  ‘I could hardly hope for anything better. I know I did not deserve as much.’

  ‘Who am I?’

  It was the most glorious moment of my life. Everything before built to that question, everything after, the years of life which I have had since and still hope to have, are the merest coda to it. For the first and the last time, I had no doubts and had no need of thought or calculation. I did not need to consider, or assess evidence, or yet to use any of the skills of interpretation needed for lesser matters; all I had to do was state the manifest truth without fear, and in perfect confidence. Some things, indeed, are so obvious that examination is redundant and logic contemptible. The truth was there to be believed, the most perfect gift because so undeserved. I knew. That was all.

  ‘You are my saviour, the living God, born of the spirit, persecuted, insulted and abused, known to the magi, who died for our sins and is resurrected, as happened before and will happen again in every generation of man.’

  Anyone who heard me would have thought me mad, and in that sentence I stepped for ever out of the full society of my fellow men and into a peace of my own.

  ‘Tell no one of this,’ she said softly.